Her Emerald Eyes
by Belle Ripley
Summary: One year after the death of Sylvia, James is still having trouble getting over her. When he meets young, ambitious Molly Dawson she will not let him out of her life.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One

J.M Barrie opened his chocolate brown eyes to greet the foggy London skies that were just outside his window. He looked at his calendar. The date was March 17th: Exactly one year after Sylvia's death. He sighed, straining to remember certain things she said to him, or the way he felt when her hand was in his. He didn't want to forget her, but the little things were leaving his memory by the day. Bringing his hands to his face he rubbed his eyes and put his feet on the ground. His dog, Porthos, jumped out of the other side of the bed and pawed anxiously at the wooden door leading to the hallway.

"All right boy, calm down." James said as he opened the door just enough to let the dog out, then he went back into his bedroom to dress for the day. As he was straightening his tie and doing the last two buttons on his vest, a loud crash could be heard from downstairs. Rushing down the mahogany steps, he noticed one of Mary's old vases had been smashed. Jack was looking down at it in horror and Michael was pointing at him and taunting,

"You're in trouble now!" James bent over and picked up the pieces. He couldn't be angry at Jack, who was the charmer of the band of brothers.

"And just how did you manage to make such a mess, Jack?" The young boy stepped forward and explained that he was trying to play fetch with Porthos. James couldn't help but laugh. It never ceased to fascinate him that young boys were so innocent and naïve. "Well, don't worry about it. And I won't mention it to your Grandmother if you promise to always play with the dog outside, hmm?" Jack nodded happily with the knowledge that Ms. Du Maurier wouldn't know about the accident "Now, let's go to the park!" The four boys excitedly hurried out the door. Peter took up the rear, as usual, his nose in one of his journals. The park had always been the Davies brothers' favorite place to go every afternoon. Every so often, they would enjoy a game of make-believe in the backyard with James, but the park brought back so many memories they had of their mother. However, it was never quite the same for James. People always gave him cold stares and they looked at the children as if they pitied them for being under his care. He shrugged it off, nevertheless, because of his love for the boys. Sitting on a bench under an inviting weeping willow tree, James and Peter both took out their journals while George, Jack, and Michael took Porthos and played fetch with the fishing rod.

"What is your new play about, Peter?" Without looking up, the young and brilliant Peter responded,

"Mother, actually. You once told me that she was on every page of this book, and now she truly will be." James felt a chill run down his spine. He was touched that Peter remembered their conversation that took place almost one year ago. Out of the corner of his eye, James noticed that Jack was flirtatiously approaching a young woman, she couldn't have been over 18. This was the thing that everyone loved the most about Jack: His love for women. Even though he was only 12, his interest in women was already taking an out of the ordinary turn. However, James thought it best to spare Jack some humiliation and interrupted.

"Uncle Jim, can't you see that I'm _busy_?!" Jack protested angrily. Chuckling slightly, James responded, "Yes, yes I see. But look at your poor brothers. They aren't having any fun without you. How can they play with the dog when you brought the fishing line all the way over here?" It was obvious that the other two had no idea Jack was even missing, but James was persistent in leaving this poor girl alone so Jack scoffed and walked off. "I'm sorry about that." There was something about this girl that captivated James before she even said a word. "They're so wonderful when they're young, aren't they?" Nodding, James offered his hand to her,

"My names Barrie. J.M Barrie. How do you do?" The girl flashed him an innocent smile and replied,

"I'm Molly Dawson. Are you J.M Barrie the playwright?" James nodded, shocked that someone was willing to talk to him once they had learned his name. "I've seen all of your plays! I can't tell you how brilliant I think you are." Without realizing it, James was blushing. Molly noticed it but said nothing.

"Oh, that's very kind of you. Do call me James, if you don't mind." She nodded and removed her hat to smooth out her wavy, auburn hair. At that moment, he shamefully admitted to himself that he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful as Molly. _How can I do this to Sylvia?_ he wondered. As intrigued as he was by this girl, he forced himself no to get carried away. On the contrary, he couldn't just stand there like a dope just staring at her.

"I've never seen you around here before. Do you come to this park often?" A devious smile lit up her face as she shook her head.

"No, I just recently moved out of my parents house into those apartments right there." She motioned across the park to the brownstone building. James found her American accent quite soothing for some reason. "Well, I didn't move out. Ran away would be a better way if putting it." Molly explained casually. James' eyes widened in shock.

"May I ask why?" He asked, surprised at himself for asking a stranger such a personal question. Molly shrugged uneasily and answered, "Perhaps when we get to know each other better. I actually do have to get going now, will you be here tomorrow?"

"That depends on the boys. Most likely, though." He responded with a boyish grin. Molly looked excited.

"Good to meet you, James. Oh, and your boys as well. Very charming." She shook his hand firmly once again and headed in the direction of her apartment. James returned to the bench with Peter, analyzing the preceding conversation very carefully. He really didn't know what to make of this young woman. Even though they had spoke briefly, he could tell that she was different than any other woman he'd ever met. She was fiery, and he could tell that she was young at heart. Wondering if he should feel guilty or liberated for meeting another woman, he led the boys back to his house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

After putting the boys to sleep that night, James sat in front of the fire with a steaming cup of tea. Madame Du Murier entered the room quietly and sat down.

"Good evening, Emma." James uttered in his friendly Scottish accent. Emma gave a nod of her head and sadly gazed into the fire. She must have remembered that it had been one year since the death of her daughter. "Er…" He began, forcing himself to make some sort of conversation with the sad old woman, "did you enjoy your lunch with the Robinson's today?" Emma's eyes lit up.

"Actually yes, thank you for remembering. Jane is always dripping with news. Apparently, a young girl moved in just across the park. Ran away from her parents, very wealthy family I'm told. Quite the scandal." James nodded, not even realizing that she was talking about the woman he had met this morning. "What was her name… Dawson? Yes, that's it. Molly Dawson!" James' cup of tea seemed to leap out of his hand and crash on the wood floor below him.

"Did you say Molly Dawson?" Emma nodded. "I met her in the park today. She seemed like a very pleasant young woman to me." She cocked her head to one side and pursed her lips in an annoyed manner.

"I hope you're not planning to see this woman again. It wouldn't be good for your already ruined reputation. You have no idea what that girl has been up to these last years. It would be in yours and the boys' best interest to keep as far away from her as possible." She stated harshly.

"With all due respect, Madame, I believe it is not up to you whom I do and do not associate with." Emma rose from her chair and stomped her foot.

"Honestly James! It doesn't matter to me in the slightest if you see her again or not. What matters is that you are making my family, my own grandsons look like fools because of the people you insist on hanging about with." James felt his face getting hot and his temper rising, something that rarely happened in his case.

"May I remind you that the main people you didn't want me 'hanging about with' _were_ your grandsons. I think the people of this city have grown accustomed to the fact that I am their legal guardian, as should you. Good night, Madame. Sleep well." On that, James exited and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He threw his fists angrily against the wall and then it hit him: Why was he so upset over such a little thing? Why was he so set upon spending more time with Molly? It didn't make sense to him at all. Even with Sylvia, it took him longer to become attached. He shrugged it off and decided he was a bit lonely, not having a woman to call his own in over a year. He resolved to sleep it off and when he saw her again tomorrow, he would search Molly for flaws.

"If there are any…"

The very next morning, against Emma's wishes, James took the boys to the park. The instant the other boys were off playing Peter and James sat on the same bench as they both eagerly began to write. Peter exhaled and began talking.

"Who was that woman you were talking to yesterday?" There was a hint of anger in his voice; James knew what was coming.

"No one of great consequence, Peter." James replied in his calming voice. Peter threw his journal into the dirt and began to shout.

"Then why were you looking at her the way you were?! You used to look at **my** mother that way!" James, though he understood Peter's emotions, he was a bit confused by them. At Sylvia's funeral, Peter was ranting on and on about how much Sylvia loved her late husband and how she would never feel the same about James. Now, a year later, the tables had completely turned.

"Peter, please don't do this to me. Nothing is going on between me and that woman you saw yesterday. We just met. On the small chance that we do get better acquainted however, please give her a chance. She really is very nice." Peter muttered something under his breath, but in his state James wasn't about to inquire. Nor did he need to, for moments later Peter repeated what he had just said.

"Er… I'd really like to go home now," he said softly. Then, at the end he added, "Uncle Jim." James smiled and took Peter over to the other boys.

"George, would you mind walking your brother home. He's not up to it today. If you all would rather, you can stay home inside if you like. It looks like it's going to rain anyways." He explained, gazing up into the hazy clouds. The boys, having never much cared for the rain, took Peter home and remained with him there for the rest of the afternoon. James felt compelled to wait in the park for Molly. He would not let himself forget the promise he made to himself which was to search this woman up and down for flaws. Petty and shallow as it may sound, it was the only way he could think of. Sure enough, after only waiting 25 minutes more, she appeared. In James' eyes, she looked more radiant than she had the day before. He couldn't understand why, though. As she moved closer, he realized it. Her eyes, they were mesmerizing. They were an emerald green with a darker rim, merging toward a cool blue towards the center. She walked right up to him like they were old friends, giddy and smiling.

"Good afternoon, James!" Molly called, just as a crack of thunder could be heard in the distance. James felt like he was a teenager all over again, awkward and not knowing what to say to this magnificent girl standing before him. All he could muster without sounding too forward or too dim-witted was,

"Looks like rain." Immediately following this, he was kicking himself inside. Couldn't he have thought about something other than weather?! Like it mattered now, he had said it, she had heard it and it was done. Molly nodded carelessly and removed her pale gloves from her tan skinned hand. She sat down on the bench and patted the spot next to her, inviting James to join her. He accepted without hesitating, and for a moment his hand was resting on top of hers. Molly noticed this, and James saw her notice it. She widened her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, and inhaled deeply. She didn't move her hand or ask him to move his. Even so, he moved it anyways and hastily apologized. Much to his surprise, however, she looked disappointed when his hand left hers.

"So, James, where are those enchanting sons of yours?" Molly asked, dying to break the ice. For the first time since they met, James loosened up.

"Oh, they aren't my sons. I am their legal guardian. It's a rather sad story." She locked eyes with him, pleading him to go on. He sighed in the "If I must, I must" sort of way and continued. "A very dear friend of mine…" he choked up slightly, but pressed on. "well, she died almost one year ago to the day. Those are her four sons. In her will she asked her mother and myself to look after them. Those were the boys that inspired me to write 'Peter Pan,' as a matter of fact." This time, it was Molly's hand who found James'. She cradled his rough hand between her two smaller, daintier ones. He smiled briefly, but yanked it from her grip. The thunder cracked again, this time much louder, causing Molly to jump and, very strategically, she landed about 4 inches closer to James than where she was sitting before. Seeing not a change in his manner whatsoever, she decided that the park simply wasn't setting the mood she was looking for. Boldly, especially for a girl of just 18, she asked,

"Maybe you'd like to come back to my place. I make a marvelous cup of tea." This, of course, was a total lie. She'd never made tea in her life. In fact, she hated it. But, although she didn't show it, she was just as nervous as James was and this was the only thing she could come up with.

"Actually…" He was about to turn her down, he wanted to respect the memory of Sylvia. How could he do that if he was having tea and holding hands with another woman? But then he looked at Molly's innocent face, but sly grin and he melted. "Actually, tea sounds wonderful."


	3. Chapter 3

****

Chapter Three

Just walking into Molly's apartment, James really began to get a sense of what she was really like. There were roses in at least 5 separate vases throughout the living room and parlor. Perhaps a sign of hopeless romanticism or she really had a passion for botany. He folded his hands neatly behind his back and began to wander aimlessly around the apartment. Meanwhile, Molly was searching frantically for tea bags. The water on the stove was no problem at all, but since she didn't drink tea she hadn't the faintest idea where to _find_ the tea. Thankfully, she found some in a care package her great aunt had given her over a year ago. Letting it steep in the simmering water, she walked out of the kitchen and tapped James lightly on the shoulder.

"The tea will be ready soon. Would you like to sit down?" He nodded and she showed him into the parlor. This was a very nice apartment for a young woman who ran away from home. James looked at the shelf supporting dozens of pictures of what he could only assume was family. Some contained Molly, some didn't. On the shelf, there were also pictures of London and Paris: Street Scenes in black and white. He thought that a very gifted photographer took these shots. Stealing a glance at Molly, he noticed that she was gazing proudly at these pictures. Turning around, he saw a room filled with photography equipment and then it all became clear to him: She was a photographer: An artist, like himself. He respected that and felt a strong need to get closer to her.

"Why did you run away from home?" She looked like she had been slashed with a knife across the stomach, the way she was clutching it so tightly. He had obviously hit a tender area in her life, but she felt the same compelling need to get to know him better, so she answered. After all, he had told her how he came to care for the four young boys.

"There really isn't just one reason. That's like asking someone 'why did you fall in love with her?' You can't answer it very easily. For one thing, they disapproved of the way I spent a lot of my time. Taking pictures of random people wasn't something a well brought-up young woman was supposed to do in her spare time, according to my parents. They never supported me, they hardly knew who I was now that I think about it." While this reason would have been sufficient, James could tell that she was holding something back. She kept rubbing her hands together and chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, "The main thing was…" He shifted towards her on the couch, "was that I was engaged." He must have looked awfully shocked because she began trying to explain herself. "I didn't love him, I felt I was too young but my parents felt that it would be good for my image. Only they were really thinking about just themselves. So one night, I just got fed up and I left. I wrote a note, but I didn't tell them where I was going. They're back in New York. We had just moved there a bit less than a year ago, but I had always been in love with London. So I moved back here."

"I'm sorry. I think you made the right choice." She nodded, still looking ashamed. The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle and she bolted up from her seat to serve their drinks. As she placed the tray on the cherry-oak table in front of James, she sniffled a bit and added some honey in her cup. She had seen her aunt do this a million times and figured it would make her look a bit more like a tea-drinker. As they sipped their tea, the conversation turned to more friendly topics like James' writing and Molly's pictures. Whenever he said something funny (which was often) she would lightly brush his upper arm and smirk.

"I have to say," she began with a smile, "I really admire you for taking care of those boys. You seem like you do a wonderful job looking after them." He shrugged off the compliment and drank the last few drops of his tea. As he set down the cup on to the saucer, their eyes met. They were staring at each other for what seemed like hours, yet he never wanted it to end. She reminded him of innocence, of childhood, and of happiness, an emotion he hadn't truly felt in a while. He leaned closer to her but before giving into his overbearing feelings, he abruptly rose and headed for the door.

"I hope you don't get the wrong impression from this, Molly, but I think it would be better if I left." There was that hurt, stomach-clutching look again. That look of heartbreak and shame. Nevertheless, she handed him his hat and sent him out the door. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and walked quickly home, praying he hadn't ruined something he already knew was very different and very special.


End file.
